Marbles and Screws
by HeCallsMeHisChild
Summary: Zim is fed up with GIR's insanity and decides to fix it for good. But when he opens GIR's head and takes out the garbage, he realizes there's more to GIR's circuitry than meets the eye. Sequel to Pennies & Paperclips.
1. Prologue

**Note:** A huge round of applause to CJBTDI, who came up with the idea and basic story structure for this fic. Also, this is my 30th fic! Woot!

_Singing doom's fun. Fun fun fun doom doom. Oh, whassat? Heehee, planetearth is a funny name. Focus! Everything's red. Then blue. Red's no fun. Makes me think of th' big scary red Irken._

_ Master wants me to look. I see lots. I sees funny lookin' pink things, funny buildings… SQUIRREL! Awww, he's cute. Master wanna know what I see'd, so I shows him squirrel. He looks confused. That's funny._

_ Master goes into round machine. Then he's gone! Someone new… who? Where's Master? Where'd he go? Oh… Master just look new. Same Master. Same grumpy. Says I should be a dog._

_ Dog… doggy… Master puts me in th' round machine. Light everywhere… doggy… doggy…_

_ Krull…_

_ What's a Krull?_

_ I's green and black. Doggy. Good doggy, I be good. Good for Master._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………_._

_Gently… gently… just a little more pressure…_ Zim hunched over his latest plan for world domination, gingerly prodding the last few parts into place…

"HI MASTER!!!"

Zim screamed, jerking back from the metallic face shoved into his view.

"GIR!" Zim shook his fist at the offending android. "I'm working with extremely sensitive material! You can't just… what is THAT?"

"It's a chicken!" GIR giggled, waving his rather perturbed prize by the neck. "You gots chickens in tubes, gotcha more chickens! CHICKENS TASTE GOOOOOOD!"

Glancing around, Zim realized his floor was covered with clucking hens. His eye twitched as GIR leaped cannon-ball style into the sea of feathers. The clucking became distressed squawking as the poor creatures ran from the terror that had brought them there. Zim's focus narrowed on the small patch of floor he could see. He leaped up onto a chair and screamed, "COMPUTER! EMPTY THE BUILDING OF THESE FEATHERED BEAST MONSTERS!"

A suction tube dropped from the ceiling, vacuuming up the hens one by one and depositing them on the front lawn. Once the last of them had been evicted, Zim grabbed his antennae and began to shriek.

"WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THIS ON MY BEAUTIFUL BASE FLOOR?? WHAT IS THIS WHITE AND GRAY FILTH?"

**According to preliminary scans, it is defecation of the creature known as gallus domesticus.**

"THERE IS CHICKEN DOOKY ON MY FLOOR? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GERMS THERE ARE IN CHICKEN DOOKY??? GIR!"

"Yes, my Master!" The robot saluted him from his upside down position.

"CLEAN UP THE DOOKY AND STERILIZE THE FLOOR!"

**Master, I hate to interrupt your nervous breakdown, but your decibel level is causing irreparable damage to your project.**

"SILENCE! I DID NOT ASK YOU FOR YOUR OPINIONS ON MY PROJECT! MY… oh flirk…"

Zim whirled back to his project, now smoking and sparking in three pieces on his work station. Gritting his teeth, he glared at GIR out of the corner of his eye. This was all GIR's fault, it always was. Except when it was the Dib's fault, but it wasn't this time. Dib could be destroyed, but GIR had to be fixed. Enough was enough. The Tallests had obviously handed him a challenge to prove his superiority with tools and technology, and he was going to surpass their expectations if it killed him.

He paused. It nearly had once. His last attempt to "fix" GIR had sent the robot on a mad spree of destruction in an attempt to garner knowledge. GIR had then turned on him, suggesting that he, Zim, was the cause of all their failures, and attempted to eliminate him.

But this time would be different. He knew what to watch for this time, he knew he would have to take GIR's danger levels into account. World domination would have to wait. His glare deepened as he watched the SIR scoop the dooky into a ball and throw it at the wall. He had a more vital project this time. Once GIR normalized, Zim could finally overthrow the planet without anymore problematic interruptions. Yes, the first step toward any project was eliminating distractions.

Turning back to his work station, Zim began assembling the parts he needed, and placed orders for codes and programs over the Irken Information Network.

A ball of dooky hit him in the back of the head. Forcing himself to stay calm, he reached for the cleansing chalk. It was going to be a very, very long day.


	2. Precious

Zim pinched the middle of his face, around where the bridge of his nose would be if he had a nose. GIR was currently hiding behind the couch, giggling rather loudly. Zim had spent three days straight working on the new programming for GIR, but GIR was not cooperating. As soon as Zim drew near, the robot promptly screamed that Zim was "it" and took off. No amount of running could catch him, no amount of commanding would move him. He merely ran circles around Zim, cackling his head off.

He'd taken up hiding behind the furniture, but every time Zim came near, he would shriek and dash off to another hiding place. Zim had shouted himself hoarse trying to get GIR to stop and obey, but he may as well have yelled at the wall. Antennae pressed flat against his head in frustration, he turned and walked into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he peered in, searching for… _aha. This should do it…_ He pulled a bowl of half-mixed waffle batter from the shelf and walked back into the living room.

"Now GIR, look. See what Zim has!"

Cyan eyes peeped over the edge of the couch.

"Zim has waffles. Waffles before they are waffles!"

A little gasp escaped the couch.

"Now GIR, come here. I promise, if you come here for a minute, I will let you make me some… ugh… waffles." He held out the bowl invitingly. "You knooooow you want to."

A little blur whizzed by, snatching the bowl and darting into the kitchen. Zim followed the blur and found GIR standing at the counter on a little stepstool, stirring batter with such vigor that it flew out of the bowl on all sides, splattering the counters and walls.

Zim could see the switch-off button on his neck. He crept forward, inch by inch, ignoring the batter flying over his head. Silently, he sprang on GIR, pressing the button. GIR uttered a small cry before slumping face-first in the batter.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Zim pulled GIR out of the batter, brushed it off his face, and carried him over to the lift.

"That's the last time you'll be giving me trouble, GIR. This new device will fix your insanity for good. And then I will have the evil henchman I deserved all along. The Tallests will be so proud of me, and how I solved their challenge. Maybe they'll send me a new MegaDoomer to congratulate me."

A pleased smirk crossed his face as he exited the lift and stepped into his labs. Laying GIR on his work table, he grabbed the antenna and swung open the top of GIR's head. Zim's eyes bulged as he saw the state of GIR's head. Cupcake wrappers and old tuna cans rattled around as bits of cheese and moldy meat clung to the sides. A bee attempted to crawl up the side, feebly fluttering its wings, until Zim crushed it. Sighing, Zim began removing the garbage, dropping each item into a disposal tube.

He tilted GIR to the side to empty out the remaining bits, when something strange happened. A single penny slid out, hit the rim of the tube, and bounced off it, dropping to the ground. Zim noted this with the usual amount of annoyance—until the penny flickered.

It was only for a second, but for an infinitesimal moment of time, the penny did not look like a penny. Zim blinked, then frowned. Setting GIR aside, he stooped and picked up the coin, holding it close to his eye.

It looked like a penny.

He tapped it against the table. It made a light ringing sound.

It sounded like a penny.

Gingerly, he put the tip of his tongue against it. YEAUCK!

It definitely tasted like copper.

Zim's frown deepened. Angrily he snapped, "Do not think you can fool me, you pathetic unit of earth currency. I know what I saw, I am Zim! And I do not hallucinate. You are no mere piece of metal with a silly hyuman visage stamped on you, you are hiding a secret. And I will know what that secret is, for I am Zim! COMPUTER!"

**Whaaaaaat.**

"Take this penny. Run analysis and scans on it. I want to find out what it is."

**But you just said it was a penny.**

"DO NOT QUESTION ZIM! MERELY DO AS I SAY!"

**Whatever.**

A robotic arm took the penny from Zim and whisked it away. He turned to GIR, a puzzled expression on his face. Gingerly, he peered inside the robot's head a second time. Most of the junk had been cleaned out, but clinging to a piece of used gum was a paperclip… and another hooked onto it.

"Are these like the penny? Come to think of it, GIR only puts food in his head… and live animals. He doesn't bother with things like monies or paper securers. Computer," with disgust, Zim pried the paperclips from the gum and held them up. "Analyze these as well."

* * *

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T UNLOCK IT?"

**Master, there is some sort of code surrounding these objects. I cannot discern their true nature. All I have been able to find out is that these objects are not as they appear, and that they may be unlocked by a voice command.**

"A VOICE COMMAND? THAT IS SO STUPID! IT COULD BE ANY NUMBER OF WORDS IN ANY LANGUAGE IN THE UNIVERSE! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT WORD OUT OF THE BILLIONS OF COMMUNICATION CODES WAS CHOSEN FOR THESE PARTICULAR…. THINGS?!"

**Can I shut myself off yet?**

"NO! NO, I HAVE TO SOLVE THIS! This information is very precious to Zim, Zim must have this information before--"

**Uh, Master? The codes dissolved.**

"…. What?!"

**They reacted to the word "precious".**

"HAH! Aha, Zim is a genius! I knew I would discover the secret word!" Zim rushed over to the console as the computer groaned.

**Why do I work for you?**

"Because you have to, and Zim is the best. Well? Well?! What are they?"

**They appear to be computer chips containing data.**

Zim's eyes widened. "The Tallests must have put them there, they must have all sorts of blueprints and schematics on planet-conquering, and they knew that I'd find them someday. Maybe they even included their personal notes on invading! Oh, Computer, download the data immediately, I must see what my Tallests have gone to such great lengths to encrypt!"

He peered eagerly at the screen as a little status bar appeared, slowly filling up with green. As it reached the end, the black screen dissolved. A picturesque yard filled the monitor view, with an Irken house in the background. In the front, an Irken female with long, curvy antennae knelt in the dirt, digging. She glanced up from the dirt, and stared directly at Zim. A little smile crossed her face, and she let go of the trowel she'd been using to wave.

Zim glanced around, baffled. Who was this female, why was she waving at him, and where were his battle plans?

"Computer… what sort of chips are these?"

** According to the images contained on these, they are memory chips.**

"Memory chips?! No blueprints or schematics? Bah, what a waste." He glanced at GIR's silent form. "Well… this was in GIR's head. It must be memories from his former commission. He must have been a bodyguard to this female. Computer, is there anything other than memories in these chips?"

** Nope.**

"Is this GIR's point of view?"

**Yes.**

"Well… I may as well see what GIR was up to before the Tallests recommissioned him to me." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, glaring at the screen. "Proceed."

The image fizzled for a moment, then changed. GIR was apparently moving down a hallway, past several doors, then he stopped in front of a smeet.

The smeet was small, barely larger than a new hatchling, with bright blue eyes and a wide smile. It waved ecstatically and giggled at the viewer, then began making faces. Zim scowled irritably. He didn't spend all that time trying to decode these chips for some immature smeet to make faces at…

He stood up so fast that his chair flew across the room. "COMPUTER! Zoom out of the image."

The image pulled back a little, and Zim sat—missing his chair and hitting the floor hard.

"Holy flirk…" he muttered to himself. "That's a mirror… that's a frame around a mirror… there's no SIR in the image… if these are GIR's memories, and that's a mirror… then GIR… was…"

_Irken._


	3. Revelations

**Note:** Again, many thanks to CJBT, who came up with the idea for this fic, and has helped me by beta-reading and suggesting ideas throughout.

* * *

_I like Master. Master funny. Make funny faces when I talks. Takes me on looooooong long walk, an' says I need to find home. Home's that way… no… it… it's over there. I left it at home, the guidey-chippy-thing. Had to make room for the cupcake, silly Master!_

_ He's yelling. Yelling real loud. Looks like someone else… someone else yelling, gonna hit me! Gonna hit me! Gonna—_

_ What? Why'm I cryin'? Cupcake… I eated it… must be sad cause cupcake's gone. I miss you cupcake…_

* * *

Zim's eyes locked onto the screen in front of him. Minutes passed in unbroken silence, a rare occasion that caused the Computer to perk up and take notice.

"Computer," Zim snapped, triggering a sigh of annoyance from the Computer. "Is this the correct image? You're omitting the image of a SIR that is supposed to be there."

**I am not omitting anything. This is the exact image as recorded in the chip disguised as one of the paperclips.**

"YOU LIE! YOU LIEEEEE! This is impossible, it cannot be!" He leaned forward, spreading his hands out on the console. "Computer, this is a logical impossibility, not to mention a physical impossibility. This smeet cannot be GIR… and GIR cannot have been this smeet! There must be more."

**There are no more images on this first chip. Shall I move to the next one?**

"Yes, yes, and quickly. Zim must know."

**Processing second paperclip… Master, this chip has audio as well as visual.**

"Just play it!"

After a sullen pause, the computer brought images onto the screen.

Zim had never experienced an outdoor excursion in which beings sat together and consumed sustenance, but he'd researched enough earthen activities to recognize a picnic when he saw it. The same female that had waved to him from the screen lounged awkwardly at the edge of a blanket. Lush aqua grass rippled in the breeze. In the background, tall buildings pierced a hazy grayish cloud that seemed to end where the grass began, as if repelled.

"Fascinating," Zim mused. "Only honorably discharged Invaders are allowed to settle on Irk's 2% of natural land. She must have been a good one to have—" his eyes widened. "…gained… breeding… rights…"

The female invader leaned to her left, and the view turned. Beside her sat a male Irken, of medium height and stocky build. A burn covered the left half of his face, shading it a darker green. He directed a gentle smile to the female Invader, and laid a hand on her arm. She covered his hand with her own, and spoke in quiet tones. Sad eyes, Zim noted.

The male's smile froze, and his hand gripped her arm convulsively, the claws drawing blood. He jerked her closer and roared into her face, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S RETARDED? VORK, YOU LYING BLINTHALL!" Zim flinched, shocked that the female Invader allowed such a derogatory insult. "HE'S FINE! HE'S JUST—HE'S—HE'S NOT RETARDED, DO YOU HEAR ME, VORK?"

He shoved her away, and turned to face the viewer. The view backed up a little, as if frightened. The male reached toward the view and grabbed the viewer. He began to shake it roughly back and forth, shouting, "YOU'RE NORMAL, YOU'RE FINE!"

Behind him, Vork grabbed his shoulder and shouted, "Hinch! Let go, stop shaking him!"

The picture fizzled out, and was replaced by a foot.

"A… foot?" Zim puzzled. Then he reared back as the foot came crashing down on the viewer once… twice… three and four times. Then a hand came down hard, and pulled back with blood on it.

"You're not… hic… retarded. D'ye hear… hear me? Get normal. Or I'll…" The hand came down again. Loud sobs echoed from the speakers. Zim's antennae drooped in horror. It sounded just like GIR whenever he took something away from the robot. The view snapped to the side, and locked on the imaged of an empty container. Zim leaned forward, then spat.

"He must be a retired Invader too. The Control Brains are too lax about their intoxication laws. It should be forbidden. Hey!" The screen had gone blank. "Computer, I want to see more!"

**Second paperclip images have all been displayed.**

"What! How come there are so few? They're memory chips, aren't they?"

**Yes, but nearly all energy in them was diverted to sustaining GIR's existence.**

Zim sulked for a moment, then straightened. "There was one more, wasn't there? Show Zim the penny!"

The computer grudgingly placed the penny on its receptor, and began downloading the information. The viewer seemed to be walking near the house he had seen on the first paperclip. Suddenly it began to move faster. A basket appeared in front of it, a basket holding a pup. Not one of those horrid dog-monsters he'd come to expect on Earth, but an honest-to-goodness Irken puppy. Zim frowned, noting the tag on the side that said, "TO GRUP" in a large, untidy scrawl.

Hands from either side of the viewer reached out and scooped up the puppy. Zim tensed. A dog was rare. Too rare for anyone to ever entrust one to a smeet. The female Invader was not named Grup, her name had been Vork. So Grup could only be…

His eyes caught on a patch of green to the side. Turning his head, he saw GIR's costume lying on the floor. It was a bit skewed, but one could easily see where the inspiration had come from. Zim had programmed the disguise for an Earth dog, but GIR had had something else on his mind.

Softly, he murmured, "He never did know what the 'G' stood for…"

Turning back to the screen, he was confronted with Vork.

"We're going to have to leave home for a little bit. What do you think of that?" Her eyes shifted nervously. Zim frowned. There was something wrong. "We're almost ready to go, I just have to pack a few things—"

Loud banging, like the kind the Dib-beast delivered when he was especially annoying, sounded. Vork's face was pinched with fear, and she pushed the viewer into a small space, closing the door. "Stay there, Grup."

Zim could hear an explosion, and a toneless SIR voice asking, "The Tallest were informed you might be making an unexpected detour, so we were sent to accompany you. Where is the defective smeet, Grup?"

"Here I is!" GIR's voice giggled, "is dis hide-an'-go-seek?"

The viewer peered through a crack in the door as Vork drew a weapon. A beam of energy blasted into her chest and through her back, leaving a gaping hole in her chest. The door was flung open, and GIR's voice screamed, "MANEEM!"

Zim was startled. Maneem was such an archaic word, it was barely used anymore. The Earthen equivalent of "Mommy," it was obsolete due to cloning and computer generated DNA sequences, but this cemented it. GIR—or Grup—had been one of the few naturally born smeets. Zim's antennae lowered slightly. The pollution on Irk was so concentrated that it was foolhardy to attempt smeet breeding, no wonder Grup was defective. Vork should never have tried, and neither should this Hinch. Yet… Zim shifted to get a better look as the viewer took in the damage done to Vork. She pressed a small drawstring bag into his tiny hands and whispered, "Take… Grup… important… keep safe… your only… must survive… love…"

Again, the scene faded. The two towering figures the images displayed next did not surprise him. A case like this would go first to the Tallests, then to the Control Brains.

Red bent over him, eyes narrowed. "What have you got there?"

Grup stammered, "Gots ta keep it safe. Maneem tol' me it was important to keep it safe… whys Maneem gone?"

A devious smile spread across Red's face. "Because she was a criminal."

"What's a criminal?"

"Someone who breaks rules. Someone who does very bad things. Do you know the bad thing your Maneem did?"

"You lies! Maneem never did nothing bad, never!"

"Yes she did. She had you." Zim's fists clenched as Red went on, relishing the pain he was inflicting. "She had you. If you hadn't been born, then she would be a good Irken Invader instead of lying dead on the ground like she is now."

"Noooooooo!" Zim lowered his eyes as the smeet wailed. "I be good! I never be bad again, let Maneem come back an' I won't be born so she's okay, pleeeeeeese!"

Purple laughed, "Too late, Grup. You did it, you can't undo it. It's like you killed her yourself."

"Nooo! Maneem, Maneem, Maneem, ma-ma-ma-ma…." The sobs shifted something in Zim's chest. He never could stand upsetting GIR… why were the Tallests doing it intentionally?

Red yawned. "Well, this has been fun, but you have to go now. SIR unit, give me the bag he's holding." The small drawstring bag Vork had given Grup was handed to Red, who tossed it to Purple. He emptied the bag into his hand, and snickered. "What the flirk… it's just pennies and paperclips and stuff. He ruined half of it by holding the bag so tight anyways." He tossed something aside.

Zim snapped, "Computer! Freeze and enlarge the image of what Tallest Purple threw away."

The image zoomed in. Two screws that had snapped in half, and a cracked and fragmented marble. Zim whispered, "Continue."

Purple tucked the penny and paperclip into his waistband, and ordered, "Take that smeet to the Control Brain."

The screen returned to black, and remained dark. Zim didn't have to see the rest, he knew what had happened. Grup had been taken to the Control Brains and his PAK had been removed. His shell would have been incinerated, and the PAK recycled. The Tallests then found Zim an empty SIR shell and dropped the paperclips and penny in. Zim's teeth grated. They had never meant for GIR to function, they had _meant_ to give him a piece of trash. But GIR functioned, thanks to Vork. Whatever she had done, it had preserved Grup. Or at least, part of Grup.

He stood up and began pacing. The marble and screws, those must have been more of Grup's personality and memories. But he had ruined the chips by holding the bag too tightly. The memories were incomplete. He stopped, staring at the wall as comprehension dawned. GIR never had access to the full memories. Faint glimpses, but all were incomplete. He probably didn't even know he had been Irken. GIR was insane, at least in part, because he never knew what was going on in his own head, he didn't have enough memory to both process his thoughts and keep himself alive.

Slowly, Zim turned to the empty SIR shell lying on the work station. He picked up the penny, and gathered the two paperclips into the palm of his hand. Gently, he slid them back inside GIR's head and closed it. He didn't touch the on switch yet, but stared down at his minion.

Zim's head swam. The images he'd seen zipped through his head, one after the other. And with them came the arguments.

_Rules are rules. Smeets that badly defective have to be destroyed._

_ But he was just an innocent smeet… he had a Maneem, one who cared for him._

_ He never would have contributed as a soldier, scientist, or even a food drone. He was worthless, it was the right thing to do._

_ The Tallests didn't make it any better though, they could have just sent him to his deactivation. Why did they say those horrible things?_ Zim could feel his chest tightening with anger. _Why did they make his last moments terrible ones?_

_ It doesn't matter. None of it does. Grup is dead. Vork is dead. There's nothing I could have done. I was probably still serving on Foodcourtia when this was happening. The Control Brains already deactivated Grup, and I'm stuck with GIR. He'll never know he was Irken, he'll always be insane._

_ No, no there has to be something I can do!_

_ There's nothing!_

**Is that all, Master?**

Zim bared his teeth at the monitor, then screamed angrily, "There's nothing I can do! Do you hear me? It's not like I can magically go back in time and stop all of this from happening!"

**Um… yes you can.**

"No, you lie! LIIEEESSS!"

**Well… Master, you do have that Temporal Displacement Device. You could use it to—**

"Silence Computer! Zim is thinking!" The Invader scrunched his forehead deeply for a moment, then bolted upright with a shout of triumph. "I've got it! I have the Temporal Displacement Device! I can use it to go back and stop Grup from dying! Why am I so amazing?!"

The Computer gave a defeated groan and asked, **Can I go now?**

"No, you will be needed to monitor this process. Prepare the device!"

**But how do you know what time you need to be there?**

"Have the device scan the penny and paperclips. It will know when I need to be there." Zim smiled, proud of his brilliance.

He strolled over to the machine, imagining all the ways he would save Grup. The wormhole was just beginning to form in the machine's glowing membrane. Zim lifted his foot to enter, then paused, glancing back at GIR. It was then that the thought flashed through his mind, _If you save Grup, GIR will cease to exist._

With one foot in the air, and an expression of alarm on his face, Zim faltered. He set his foot down on—a chicken. The Computer had missed the lone chicken pecking behind the machinery. With a yelp of surprise, Zim stumbled backwards into the Temporal Displacement zone, and vanished. Only his angered howl remained.

"I WASN'T READY YEEEEEET!"


	4. Refugee

"—eeeeeeeeeet OW!" The vortex spat Zim out into a large pricklethorn bush. This consumed the vast majority of his attention as the thorns tore and pricked his skin. Once he stopped moving, he noted—secondarily of course—that he was no longer anywhere near Earth. The lush aqua-colored grass and the scent of chemically laden air could only be from Irk. Oh Earth had its own chemicals in the air, but not nearly so heavy or toxic. Zim flicked his tongue out, scenting it and smiling. Ah Irk, he'd missed it.

He had not, he acknowledged with a snarl, missed the pricklethorn bushes. He'd been thrown into several at the training academy. The blasted things grew despite the concrete and paving despite every effort to exterminate them. There was always one nearby when a taller classmate felt the urge to shove a shorter student off the walkway.

Fortunately, this had given him plenty of practice in extricating himself from such foliage. Once he'd reached the ground, he knelt and pulled an amazing disguise from his PAK.

"A little twist, a minor adjustment… aha! I am a genius! No one will recognize the mighty ZIM!" The little Irken thrust a fist into the air. He now sported pure blue eyes and an extra blade on each antenna. He grinned. He truly was amazing.

Now, to find the house… "Again, Zim is amazing!" The Irken laughed. "I calculated the exact trajectory to place myself near the house I needed to infiltrate. See, there is Vork. And there is Hinch. And there is Hinch's laser gun." His smile froze as the first laser beam shot past him, scorching his left antenna. "Oh flirk."

As he bolted away from the house, it crossed his mind that subtlety and caution might serve him better than his usual approach.

* * *

THWACK.

Zim swatted another netterbug as it lighted on his neck. It was the thirtheenth since sundown, he'd been counting. His neck was already swelling from the bites, and he scratched them in annoyance.

"Stupid computer, sending me back without telling me how far back it's sent me. It could be months before Vork is killed, or it could be days." Wiping the smeared bug remains off on the ground, he winced as his squeedly spooch grumbled. "It could have reminded me to bring supplies as well. The mind of an Invader is on more important things, and it's the computer's job to see that I'm sent off on a mission prepared. I'll have to check the AI unit when I return." His spooch grumbled louder. He glared at it furiously. "You, silence. There isn't anything for you here. There hasn't been for days, why should now be any different?"

_Just admit it, you came here without much of a plan, and now you're stranded. Have been for three days, without food or shelter._

_ Shut up._

"Fond of talking to yourself?"

Zim shrieked, tumbling back on his rear—into the pricklethorn bush he'd been sheltering under.

Vork stood over him, a laser aimed at his chest. She tilted her head to the side. "You're the one that Hinch shot at a few days ago. This is restricted land, don't you know that? You'd better leave before the Control Brains find out you've been here. Are you some sort of vagrant or refugee?"

Zim glanced down. His uniform was ripped and stained with blood after his battle with the pricklethorn bush. For once he was grateful for the horrid plant, and immediately began his performance.

"Yes, a refugee, from that horrible war in that horrible place." He waved his hand in a vague direction. "Those horrible creatures destroyed all of our things and sent us all over the place, and I have nowhere to go."

Her gun lowered slightly. "Be that as it may, you can't stay here. I've let you sleep out here for awhile, but Hinch is starting to wonder about the noisy rants in the night."

"You knew I was out here?"

She snorted. "Of course I did. I'd have to be deaf and blind not to. You're not the greatest at hiding yourself."

"Zim is the greatest hider ever!" He snarled, injured.

Her eyes widened slightly. "What did you say your name was?"

Zim opened his mouth, then shut it. If she'd heard of his brilliant reputation, then his cover would be blown.

"Sim… I said Sim is the greatest hider ever. Yes. I am Sim." He nodded imperiously.

"Well, Sim, you haven't done a very good job so far."

"Well maybe I wasn't trying to hide." He crossed his arms. "Maybe I was trying to get your attention."

"To what purpose?"

"To… to… to ask if I could stay at your dwelling." Zim bit his tongue, and looked morose, hoping to play on Vork's protective nature. "I've been chased by Hoguluses and Slorbeasts for weeks without rest. It's dangerous out there," he waved his arm at the heavily populated cities, then cursed and turned his outstretched arm to the less populated areas. "Out _there_," he corrected. "And I need a place to rest and regain my strength before setting out for my appointment with the Tallests."

She raised an antenna and smiled wryly. "_You_ have an invitation to speak with the Tallests? Aren't you a little short for that?"

Frowning, Zim seethed, "I am exactly the right height for the mission they require. Do you doubt me?"

"Absolutely," She laughed, slipping her laser into her PAK, "But that doesn't matter. Whether you're a refugee or not, you do look like you need a place to stay. But this is only for a few days, understand?"

"Understand. Understood." He nodded, and when she turned to lead him away, he pumped his fist victoriously.

* * *

"Absholutely not." Hinch frowned at Zim, holding a flask in one hand. "Shad shtory, but _hic_ not taking another uselesh mouth to feed."

Vork stiffened and her eyes narrowed. Zim felt the tension between the two rising. He could only assume Hinch had meant Grup when he'd mentioned "another" useless mouth. Apparently Vork didn't feel the same way.

"Hinch," She said tightly, "It's just for a few days. Besides, there are things around here that need fixing, and Sim just happened to volunteer to work on them."

"I did?" Zim blinked. On receiving an elbow in the ribs, Zim coughed, "Oh yes, I did."

"It isn't like anyone else is going to fix things up." She bit out the words. Hinch growled angrily.

"Fine. Just keep him outta my way, Vork. Outta my sight. Both of 'em."

A flash of blue caught Zim's eye. He glanced to the side and saw, peeping around the corner, a set of cyan eyes. They widened, then vanished around the corner. He fixed his attention back on Hinch and saluted.

"Don't worry, sir. You won't even know I'm here."

"I'd better not." Hinch turned and stumbled away. Vork gritted her teeth but put a hand on Zim's shoulder, guiding him through the house. Opening a door, she gestured inside.

"This is our smeet's playroom. He goes to bed early though, so you won't be disturbed at night." She turned and walked down the hall, then brought back a blanket. "This should keep you warm. Tomorrow we'll see if we can find any clothes that fit you." She stood in the doorway, watching him. She seemed to be waiting for something.

Zim blinked. "Are you wanting monies from Sim?"

She arched an eyeridge. "Monies, no. Gratitude perhaps."

Zim blanched as he realized she wanted thanks. How long had it been since he had used that word? Slowly, he put it in his mouth and tested it, drawing it out like silly putty. "Thaaaaaaaank. Youuuuuuuu."

Vork smiled and turned away. "You should practice that some more. Then maybe people will believe you."

Scowling, Zim shook out the blanket and curled up on the floor, resting his head on a stuffed toy. His eyes strayed around the room, taking in the shadows of scattered playthings in the darkness. He wondered what it would be like to meet GIR as Grup face to face. He hoped Hinch wouldn't change his mind and throw him out. He'd had enough of that horrible bush out in their yard.

As he closed his eyes to sleep, one last question crossed his mind.

_Is Grup as insane as GIR, or is he merely as stupid?_


	5. Games

_Master wants another piggy. Dun wanna give him another piggy. They go 'way in tha big light. Big boom, an' gone. Gone…_

_ Piggies everywhere, lil blue piggies wiv green eyes. Lil tiny piggy pet taken away._

_ No, not blue piggies, pink piggies. All mixed up in my head. Master wants another piggy. Chest hurts, water comes outta my eyes._

_ "Why my piggy? I loveded you, piggy, I loveded youuuu!"_

* * *

_Creeeeeeeeeeak._

Zim's antennae stiffened, but he remained still. He forced his breathing to follow a regular sleep-cycle pattern. The enemy could not be alerted to his consciousness.

A dull, dragging thump-thump-thump approached. Zim tensed, cracking open one eye—

--wide blue eyes hovered an inch from his own. Zim opened his mouth and screamed.

"AAAAAAAUGH!"

Grup pulled back and screamed.

"AAAAAUGH!"

"AUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!"

"AAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH!"

"WAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGH!!!"

Zim's scream carried on for about thirty seconds, and Grup stared in astonishment. Zim began coughing, holding his middle, and a wide smile spread across Grup's face.

"That's fun, le's do it again!"

Glaring, Zim muttered, "Actually, let's not."

Grup's antennae drooped for a moment, then pulled himself up and grinned. "I's Grup. Who's you?"

"I am Z… Sim. I am Sim."

"Sim? Tha's a funny name. Hey, you're 'wakey! Wanna play games?"

Zim pushed himself up, rubbing his head. "Of course not, don't be ridiculous. Sim plays no games. Psssh. The very idea…" Glancing around, he realized no one else was listening. Leaning forward, he whispered to Grup, "What's a game?"

Grup stared at him for a moment, then he threw back his head and laughed. "You dunno what games is, Sim?"

"Do not laugh at me, insolent fool-smeet. Sim knows everything." Imperiously, he glared at Grup. "I was testing you, to see if you knew."

Grup's eyes rounded. "Oooh, tests, like th' ones Compy gives me? Okay okay, I knows this, I knows this. Games, games is fun stuffs. Like, I'm one guy, and you's another guy, an' we race on a board or see who gets to th' end fastest, or who can find th' other guys first."

Frowning, Zim attempted to sort this out in his mind. His antennae rose questioningly. "Competitions, then? Is that what these games are, competitions?"

Grup looked at him, confused. "Words too big. Games is just fun."

"Well, then show Sim. Show me how you play these games."

Brightening, Grup turned and waddled across the room. Zim frowned, observing the smeet's awkward walk. Part of it seemed to be natural, a side effect of his physical defect, but there was more… It looked like his leg had broken and not healed properly. He scowled harder, thinking of the memory chip images of Hinch beating Grup. He could almost see a scar running past Grup's foot, up his crooked leg, under his…

Zim shook his head and stared. Grup wasn't clothed in the typical Irken uniform. How had he not noticed this before? In fact, the smeet was dressed in something entirely different, like nothing he'd ever seen. Loose fitting clothes with bright colors and shapes all over them, with the top echoing the pattern on the bottom.

"You, Grup smeet. What are you wearing? Where are your uniforms?"

"Huh? Oh, dun' got none. Maneem no likes 'em. Made me special clothes. These sleepy clothes! I gets play clothes after we does games. Then mebbe we goes outside."

Zim grunted noncommittally as Grup stumped back over, holding some sort of box in his hands. Eagerly, the smeet emptied it out on the floor and began setting colorful pieces on a sort of path laid across a triangular board.

"So… what are the rules of this competition?"

* * *

"No! Not again! I refuse, absolutely refuse! Sim does not lose at anything, do you hear me? Anything!"

Grup rocked back and forth, laughing. "Gumjan, I wins 'gain!"

Zim scowled, glaring hard at the frivolity of the child.

_How does he keep beating me? I am Zim! I should not be losing to some defective smeet! This is GIR, my future slave robot. He should not be beating me!_

_ Then again, he's been playing like this for a long time, while all you did was train to be an Invader._

_ Nonsense, there is nothing that Zim cannot win at._

"Again," he said sharply, bringing Grup out of his giggles. "We play again."

"Okay!" Grup clapped his hands in glee and set out the pieces again. This was the sixth time, and he enjoyed every round of Gumjan they played.

Zim threw himself into the game, viciously slapping down his cards, spinning the dice, and jerking his pieces onward. Finally, at the end of the sixth game, Zim slammed his token down on the final triangle and crowed, "Victory! Victory for Sim! Sim is me, and I am victorious! Bow to victorious Sim!!!"

To his shock, Grup did not grovel or cry. He merely stood and clapped, a huge grin spread across his face. "You won Sim, you won!"

Flattered, Zim smiled crookedly. "Yes, I did. I am superior, and you should praise me. Praise me, Grup!"

The smeet threw back his head and laughed. "I dunno what you says, but you won!"

Zim paused for a moment. "This does not upset you, that I won." It was more of a statement than a question, but it puzzled Zim. "Why are you not upset that you lost?"

"Why'd I be mad? We's havin' fun. Good games! Right Maneem?"

Startled, Zim jerked his head around to spot Vork leaning in the doorway, an amused smile on her face. "Right, Grup. I see you've been entertaining our guest. Made a new friend?"

Outraged, Zim spluttered, "Invaders need no—"

"Oh, Sim's great! He's tha bestest friend ever!" Grup cheered, throwing his arms in the air.

Tentatively, Zim pushed aside his outrage and tested this statement. Grup was saying that Zim was the best at something. The best at being a friend. Well, at least he was admitting the superiority of Zim in some fashion.

"I'm glad, Grup, but I have to take Sim now. He needs new clothes." She gestured for Zim to follow. "His look like he was attacked by a slaughtering rat-beast."

Zim opened his mouth, then closed it, swallowing his pride. There was no way he could keep going around in his tattered uniform. Sighing, he heaved himself up and turned to follow Vork. A hand on his arm stopped him.

"Gonna come back an' play more?" Grup pleaded.

Vork put a hand on Grup's head. "If he wants to, he'll play with you later. I have some work for him first though."

Zim's face fell. "You really do intend to work Sim?"

She blinked. "Of course I do. Unless you'd rather make closer friends with the pricklethorn bush outside."

"Yes, yes, Sim shall work." He replied hastily.

"But first," she called back, leading the way, "Sim shall get new clothes."

The room she led him to was small, but overflowing with colorful cloth and vibrant threads. A small skylight opened through the slanted ceiling to allow a shaft of sunlight. A few small machines lay on the single worktable. Vork walked over to one of the piles of cloth and began sorting through it. With a grunt of satisfaction, she plucked two pieces from the pile and held them out to Zim. He took them, confounded.

"These are like no uniforms I've ever seen, why do you make them like this?"

Vork's mouth twitched, and she hedged, "I don't like the uniforms. They make everyone look the same."

Zim blinked. "That's the point of the uniform. We're all clones anyway, why would we need to be different?"

Vork's antennae flattened against her head. "Not all Irkens are clones. And even if they are, so what? We may look alike, but we have different personalities. I don't fancy this idea that we all have to look alike and dress alike and be alike."

Zim's eyes widened. "This is treason-talk, Vork."

Her mouth tightened. "Forgive me." She shook her head and turned to leave. "They're just clothes, and I make them for amusement. There's nothing more to them than that."

Examining the garments in his hands, Zim wondered uneasily if he would be wearing a disgruntled Irken's subtle protest against the Control Brains, but conceded grimly that he didn't have much of a choice. A brief image of him running around the house naked was enough to propel him into the strange, loose-fitting pants and short shirt.

As he exited the room, he spotted Vork leaning against the wall, waiting. "Ready to earn your keep, Refugee?"

Summoning all his height, he stood tall and declared, "Sim is ready for anything you throw at him, Irken female. There is nothing Sim cannot do. Lead the way!"

* * *

Not an hour later, Zim lay face down in the dirt, moaning. Beside him lay a hoe almost twice his height, and alongside him were four ploughed rows, each increasingly more crooked than the last.

"Zim wants to go back to the games," he moaned pitifully. "Losing to the Grup smeet is preferable to this. Where are your machines? Where are your robots to do this work for you?"

Vork lifted her head from planting and laughed. "I don't want them. If machines did all my work for me, what would I do all day?"

"Rest and plot world domination," Zim growled, wrestling with the hoe again.

"I'm not an Invader anymore, Sim." She thrust her claws into the earth and pulled it back, making a hole for another seed. "It's been many decades since I've needed to plan the destruction of a planet."

"So… what planets… did you… take over?" Zim attacked the ground viciously, panting from the effort.

"Me? Well, I was involved with the conquest of Hundredacy and Metallur, but my greatest achievement was aiding in the downfall of Vort."

Zim froze, his jaw dropping. "You were part of the operation to bring Vort under our control? That's… that's amazing!" His eyes lit up. "I studied that invasion backwards and forwards… you're THAT Vork?"

Keeping her eyes on the ground she worked with, she nodded slightly.

"You're a legend!" Zim breathed. "Every Invader knows about you!"

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at him. "Oh? And why would you have studied it, Refugee?"

Zim scrambled for an answer. "Be…cause… I was in training for awhile! Yes, but they kicked me out." He forced a doleful expression. "I failed my classes." He bit his tongue against the truths that screamed for expression. _Top of my class, best of the elite, conquerer in Impending Doom 1. Invader Zim! And I will be a legend as well._

She turned back to her work. "I see. You were fortunate not to have to endure the full training if you were not ready for it."

He flinched, feeling every scar and burn mark under his shirt tingle at the mention of training.

Her eyes flicked over to his progress, and her lips quirked upward. "Looks like you're almost halfway done, Sim. Keep working."

Gritting his teeth, Zim renewed his attack on the dirt.

_ I wish the SIR units would come already. How much longer do I have to keep up this humiliating façade?_

_ Calm down Zim, it's only been… a day._

_ Flirk, I'll never make it._

_ Of course I'll make it. I am Zim!_

Even so, it was nightfall before Vork allowed the loudly complaining Irken to return to the house for dinner.


	6. Dinner

**Note: **Just a reminder, major credit goes to CJBTDI, who came up with the idea for this fic and is beta reading it. Also, sorry it's so long between updates, but I've been kind of busy between holding two jobs, learning how to longboard, and ploughing through a ton of library books I picked up.

Zim could not remember ever having worked with a more primitive or vengeful weapon as this "hoe". He still didn't understand why Vork didn't have machines to do all this work for her, despite her argument. It was a waste of energy to perform these labors. Energy that could be better spent planning world domination or tinkering with technology, in his opinion.

By the time Vork called to him, announcing dinner time, he was little more than a collection of scrapes, bruises, and aches. Casting glares of silent fury at the hoe, he marched painfully toward the house. Instead of welcoming him like the conquering hero he was, though, Vork scowled and pointed him toward the washroom. The washroom! As if it hadn't been bad enough to be beaten by Grup at a game and put to work like a drone, he couldn't even eat yet!

He slunk into the washroom and splashed some cleansing gel over his face and head. He felt the grainy dirt sliding off his antennae, and suddenly he couldn't be clean enough. Yanking off his clothes, he jumped into the cleansing unit and felt the gentle, vibrating hum of the sonic cleaning device removing every dirt particle from his body. He made a disgusted face as he saw the pile of filth hover in front of him for a moment before being sucked away.

Poking his head out, he noticed his dirty clothes had been replaced by a new set of clean ones. Vork must have put them there for him, he reasoned, and slipped into them.

Feeling clean, if still tired and sore, he walked out of the washroom and paused, unsure where the meal would be consumed.

"Done yet?"

"AUGH!"

Grup stood next to the door, rocking on his heels with a smile on his face. "Maneem said t'come getya so we could eat already."

Zim didn't even have the energy to scowl as he followed the smeet to yet another room in the dwelling. It was a small room, bare of most furnishings save a table and a few chairs. The smell of roasted Blorthen hit his senses and his mouth began to water. Ignoring a pointed glare from Hinch and an amused glance from Vork, he seated himself and reached for a portion. Grup plopped in the seat next to him.

"It's about time you two got here." Hinch growled.

"I was gettin' Sim from th' warshoom." Grup beamed as if _he'd_ been the one to conquer the yard with a hoe.

"That's washroom, you idiot." Hinch flicked a scornful glance at his offspring. Grup's expression deflated, and he stared down at his plate.

Zim blinked, surprised by the anger forming in his spooch. It was true, Grup was an idiot in the strictest terms, but what was the point of reminding him like that? He turned to Vork, but she was staring hard at Hinch, who held her eyes contemptuously. The stare lasted thirty seconds, but it was Hinch who looked away. It occurred to Zim that, for now, Hinch did not seem intoxicated. So, even when his mind was clear he still viewed his smeet as worthless.

Silence thickened in the little room, clogging Zim's attempts to breathe. Utensils clinked and scraped loudly against the plates. Zim was furious. How dare their silence disturb his eating, why couldn't he eat anymore? What happened to his hunger? It had been replaced by a sick feeling he couldn't place. He didn't like it.

Abruptly Zim stood. "Well, it's been a wonderful foodening, but I must sleep."

Vork blinked. "You barely ate."

"Food's not good enough for you, eh Refugee?" Hinch sneered.

Zim straightened. "It absolutely is. I am merely exhausted and require rest."

Grup pushed his plate away. "Not hungry neither."

"Good," Hinch grumbled. "Less food wasted on the useless."

"Don't you dare," Vork snapped, "Call my smeet useless."

"Well he is!" Hinch returned. "He's nothing, he'll never be anything! There is nothing he could possibly do to further the empire. He may as well be a leech for all the good he is."

Grup's head drooped lower and lower, his antennae hanging limply down the sides of his head. Zim was sure he couldn't understand all that was being said, but he probably understood the meaning.

"Sim, Grup." Vork's voice was like a whip and Zim flinched. "Please leave. Sim, if you would put Grup to bed. Now."

Hastily, Zim grabbed Grup's hand and half-dragged him from the table.

Pausing in the hallway, he realized he didn't know where Grup's room was. "Um, Grup… where are your sleeping quarters?" At the uncomprehending look on the smeet's face, he rephrased his question. "Your room, where is your room?"

Grup silently led him to his room. Zim merely picked him up and placed him on his bed. "There. Consider yourself put to bed by Sim. Now sleep." Turning, he crept out of the room. He wanted to know what was happening between Vork and Hinch. Behind him, a faint voice called, "Sim, I di'n't brush my teef. Or get my sleepclothes. Or have my drink."

…………………………………………………………………

Zim cursed. It had taken him an hour to follow all the routines that Grup had in place before he would go to sleep. Realizing he'd probably missed whatever had occurred between Vork and Hinch, he turned glumly to make good on his intentions to sleep.

_Crash._

His antennae twitched as he came to full alert. He pressed himself against the wall and inched toward the sound of breaking glass… accompanied by a rather slurred voice.

"You think jusht caush you conquered Vort the Brainsh will let you do whatever you want… let you keep that misherable creature?"

"Hinch, please! He'll hear you." Vork's voice was full of anger, tinged with fear.

"I don't give a flirk. Let 'im hear, let 'em all hear! No shmeet of mine's gonna grow up t'be a leech on the Control Brainsh, we're gonna take 'im to them t'morrow, ya hear?"

"No! Give him a chance!" Zim peered around the corner. "He'll grow out of it, we're not taking him to termination!"

From his limited vantage, he could see Vork standing by the table. From beyond his view, a hand flew up and cracked across her face, sending her reeling. She looked up, stunned, a trickle of green blood seeping from her lip. For a second, she looked lost, like she'd never seen the person in front of her before. Then her expression hardened, and she growled, "Get out."

"Wha?" Hinch sounded confused, like he didn't know what to make of her.

"Get out!" Vork screams, yanking a laser from her PAK and pointing it. "Get out, get out!"

Zim stumbled back into his room, hastily shutting the door. He could hardly believe what he'd seen, but it made sense. At the end of the memory chips, Hinch had not been there to protect Grup or Vork from the SIRs. But this… the rare times Irkens actually mated, it was forever. The idea that Vork placed the safety of this smeet she knew would be condemned over the security of her marital bond made no sense to him.

He crawled back under his blanket, pondering the strange connection between Vork and Grup, this protectiveness that superceded all other concerns, including—eventually—her own life.

_Tap tap tap._

Zim's antennae jolted up, and he shot a glance at the door. "Come in."

The door creaked open, casting a dull rectangle of light into the playroom. An oversized shadow loomed in the light on the floor, leading to a tiny smeet form. Grup stood there, hands balled into tiny fists, eyes locked on the floor.

"Well, what do you want?" Zim asked tersely. "It's sleeptime, aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Grup flinched, then murmured, "Can't."

"Can't what?"

"Sleep. Scared."

"Of what? There's nothing to be scared of."

"Scared Fareto come back an' hurt us 'gain." He raised his head, and Zim was startled to see Grup's blue eyes filled with tears. "Can I sleep wiv you?"

"A-absolutely not!" Zim sputtered. "Go back to sleep. Be a big smeet, you're perfectly fine slumbering on your own." Plunking his head down on a soft toy, he closed his eyes.

To his chagrin, he heard a familiar sniffle. Then another, and another. Then a quiet sob. He knew that sound all too well. He heard it every time he did something to upset GIR.

_Why my piggy?! I loveded you, piggy, I loveded you!_

"Stop that, you're wasting fluids."

_ I miss you, cupcake…_

"Stop it, don't make that crying noise. I mean it."

_ No, I'm still watching it, I wanna see what happens. I need it! Why?!_

"WOULD YOU…" Zim bit his tongue. Yelling never stopped GIR from crying, it usually made things worse. Besides, it never felt right to make GIR cry more. It always made him feel a little sick.

Grumbling, he pulled back the covers. "Alright, fine, you can sleep here tonight, just no more crying."

Grup choked back his tears, wiping his face as he waddled over. Sliding under the blanket, he curled up next to Zim, snuggling close. Zim barely kept himself from recoiling from the foreign form next to his body. The smeet's breathing was erratic from crying, but soon settled into a regular rhythm of slumber. Zim laid his head on the stuffed toy again and glared at the ceiling. "This is going to be a looooooong mission."


	7. Attack

**Note:** I know it's been months, I apologize. It's been crazy between my two jobs, adjusting to living with 7 other girls, and… well… let's just say that a lot of crap happens sometimes. But here's the end of this fic! Don't kill me, the third one that explains all loose ends is on its way…

…

By the third day of working the garden, Zim was marginally better at using the hoe, and could beat Grup one out of three times at Gumjan, but was no closer to understanding the strange bond that connected Vork and Grup. Was it because he was, and always would be, helpless? Did it play into some strange weakness she had? Was it because she had carried him in her body instead of having him cloned from her and Hinch's DNA?

For a moment, he paused, considering. What would have been different if he had been hatched naturally instead of cloned from two random DNA sequences? Would he have experienced this sort of bond?

He shook himself, scowling. It didn't matter what might or might not have happened, because it hadn't happen. Zim had had a cold, unfeeling robot arm for a few moments before being pulled away for training, and that was that. He didn't regret it. He had been selected from among the smeets and put through the most intensive training in the known universe, yes, but it had made him ZIM. The most amazing Invader ever to serve the Tallests.

"Sim, are you finished yet?"

Zim glanced down at the wires in his hands. "Don't rush me," he snapped. "They're corroded and need delicate handling if you want your heat production to function properly. Do you _want_ your heat production to function properly?"

"Yes, Sim." Came Vork's mocking voice from behind him. "But if you continue at this rate, Grup will be enrolled in the academy before you're finished."

Zim scoffed. "As if that would ever happen."

Silence followed his remark as he continued welding the wires together. Then suddenly he was yanked from his position and dragged away. He wriggled free of the grip and turned to face Vork. Her eyes had narrowed to slits, and her lips had barely parted to reveal clenched teeth.

Deliberately, she straightened, and snarled, "If you want to remain here, Sim, you will not belittle my smeet. Is that understood?"

Zim growled. Who was she to tell him what to do? But if he didn't stay here, he couldn't complete his new mission. He wouldn't be able to save Grup.

"Understood. Now can Sim return to fixing or not?"

Vork made a disgusted sound and opened her mouth to reply.

"Maneem!"

Her antennae twitched as she half-turned. Grup stumbled clumsily toward her, his arms full of wriggling green fur. "I founds it, was outside, had my name on, can I keep? Keep please!"

Zim growled, "Of course not. That thing has fleas and fur and filth."

Vork glanced at him curiously. "Fleas? What are fleas?"

Zim flinched. Irk didn't have fleas, Earth did.

"Nothing. Flees. Those things flee everywhere and you have to chase them, yes."

The dog wriggled out of Grup's arms and bounded over to Zim, leaping up on him and knocking him away from the heating unit. He yelped, throwing his arms up to fend off the creature. "No! Stop! Cease! Do not eat Zim!"

Grup and Vork laughed.

"He likes you!" Grup giggled.

Vork smirked. "Looks like we have a new addition."

"No! No! I refuse!" Zim shoved the pup away. "I will leave if this thing must stay!"

Vork looked amused. "You were going to leave eventually anyway. Isn't that right?"

Zim glared at her, but was distracted by the dog's fresh attempts at slobbering all over his face. This thing was horrible, why was it here?

He froze, gripping the dog by the scruff of its neck and staring into its eyes. This thing was one of the last things Grup saw on the memory chip. That's why. His eyes narrowed. It was almost time, then. Slowly, he handed the dog back to Grup. In a quieter voice, he muttered, "If it has to stay, I suppose it must."

Grup gripped the dog tightly and squealed, "I call 'im Krull!"

Vork laughed. "Well, Krull it is. I'll buy food for him tomorrow, and until then he can have our leftovers." She bent over and scratched the dog's head, earning a happy squeal from the creature.

Zim watched Grup retreat with his new prize and glanced at Vork. Was there a way to save her as well?

No. The only way to convince her would be to tell her that he'd traveled through a time/object replacement device, and she would never believe him. She'd think he had brainworms and send him away, afraid he might infect Grup probably. And he had to be there when the SIR units came for Grup.

That night he lay on his side, Grup curled under one arm. He'd only sleep for a little bit, he assured himself. It could happen at any time, and he couldn't be caught off guard. Just an hour at most, then he would be alert and ready…

…

_I see me. I's doin' stuff I dun' like. Always dun' like when I sees red. Like the red eyes that killed maneem. Can't stoppit. I's gonna kill Master! No, make it stop, can't stop the red, the red kills! The red…_

_ Hi floor! Make me a sammich!_

…

"Maneeeem!"

Zim woke with a start, tense and alert. Something was wrong. He flicked out his tongue. He couldn't scent food cooking. Since he'd come to stay with Vork there had always been food cooking as he woke. He shifted, and realized that Grup was no longer beside him. In his place was a note, signed by Vork. Zim cursed, leaping out of bed. He didn't need to read the note to know what it was. Vork had planned to slip away with Grup, but had failed. The scream that had woken him was Grup's scream, the one from the memory clip that signaled Vork's death.

Zim bolted out of the playroom, down the hall, and around a corner. In front of him lay Vork, in a pool of her own blood, handing Grup a small drawstring bag. He clutched it to his chest as he wailed desperately for her. The SIR units, four of them, stood in a half-moon blocking the exit, ready to seize the smeet.

There was no time. Zim extended all his spiderlegs and began firing lasers in random directions. The SIR units turned to him, distracted. Zim allowed himself a desperate cackle. "DEATH TO DEFECTIVE SMEETS!" With a crooked, crazy grin, Zim swooped down, scooping up Grup.

The smeet stared up at Zim, terror widening his eyes. Screaming, he struggled, trying to wriggle free from Zim's grip.

The SIR units were advancing, charging their own weapons, and Zim was hampered by the struggles of his charge. With one swift move, he brought the flat of one spiderleg across Grup's temple. The smeet went limp, and Zim shifted him to one arm, charging at the SIR units. "DEATH TO DEFECTIVE SMEETS, AND ALL TRAITORS TO THE IRKEN EMPIRE!" He let loose another crazy cackle as he continued shooting wildly. The SIRs attempted to aim at him, but he leapt from floor to ceiling to wall with his spiderlegs, always keeping them off-balance. He wasn't, he noted with displeasure, causing them to disperse though. They seemed to be waiting for him to tire before taking him down.

He snorted. Take down the mighty Zim? Hah. He, who had handled GIR single-handedly, could easily take on four drone-minded SIR units. He shambled closer to them, swaying from side to side as if intoxicated. They watched with confusion as he stopped, then pointed his spiderlegs forward, down the middle of the half-moon. The two nearest attempted to raise their weapons, but Zim fanned out his spiderlegs, sweeping the two nearest SIRs in opposite directions to crash into their comrades. In two bounds he was at the door, and in another second he had left the house.

Clutching Grup tightly, he raced across the yard. He didn't know where he was headed, and he didn't know what he was going to do. All he knew was that he had to get Grup to safety. A bark at his side drew his attention long enough for him to give a groan. The stupid puppy—what had Grup called it? Krull. Krull was racing alongside Zim.

"Shoo!" Zim shouted. "Shoo, no time for you!"

Krull's tongue lolled out as he stretched his legs to match Zim's breakneck pace. Suddenly he veered to the side and started barking. Zim stopped and stalked over to the puppy. Pet or no pet, he was going to draw the attention of the SIR units and was, therefore, a danger. He withdrew a laser from his PAK and pointed it at the dog, who kept barking, seemingly at nothing. Suddenly Krull leaped forward into—nothing. The dog vanished into thin air.

Zim dropped the laser and immediately ran for the same spot Krull had disappeared from. Yes, there it was. The computer had opened a portal for him to return. He hadn't been able to see it from his angle, he had passed it completely. He would have ignored it too, if not for the dog. Grudgingly, he made a note to give the dog a treat later, and stepped through the portal.

….

The portal spat him out in his lab. He stumbled forward, barely keeping himself from dropping the still unconscious smeet. He gave a quick glance around. Everything seemed in order. Nothing had changed. That was a good sign.

Zim stared down at the smeet in his arms. What was he going to do with a smeet? He didn't know the first thing about taking care of _normal_ Irken babies, much less defective ones. What had he been thinking? At least GIR had been slightly useful.

GIR. Zim's antennae lowered a little. He would miss that crazy SIR unit. He was, he admitted, a good companion. Even if he did wreck most of Zim's plans. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, taking a moment to think of the robot. Aloud, he murmured, "Well. GIR may no longer exist, but he will remain in my memories, at least."

Satisfied, he lifted his head.

Cyan eyes framed by a metallic face stared an inch away.

Zim opened his mouth and screamed. "AUGH!"

The robot drew back and screamed "AUUUUUGH!"

"AUUUUUUUUGH!"

"AUUUUUUUUUUUGH!" GIR grinned, giggling happily, "Do-it-again! Hey Master, whatcha got? BABIES! I LIKE BABIES! We got a doggie too. CAN I KEEP THE HOT DOG?"


	8. Epilogue

"Who are you?" Grup wailed. "Where's Maneem? Where's Sim?"

"I am Sim!" Zim frowned. He took out the blue contact lenses and false antennae blades, putting them back on. "It was a disguise. My real name is Zim."

"S…Zim? B-but Maneem—"

"She's… well…" Zim glanced at the portal. "She's… on vacation!" He brightened. "Yes. On vacation, and she sent you to my base to be taken care of."

"Oh." Grup sniffled. "So she's ok?"

"Yes, yes, perfectly fine." Zim flinched, trying not to look at Grup too long.

"MASTER WHO'S THE BABY?"  
Zim cringed at the volume of his SIR unit's screech. "Grup, GIR, his name is Grup."

GIR walked up to Grup and stared, eyes wide. "You's Grup?" A small spark escaped from his head. The smeet nodded, wide-eyed. "I like that name! You want a taco?"

Grup blinked. "Whassa taco?"

GIR gasped. "You dunno what's a taco? I get you one!" He grabbed Grup's arm and zoomed away.

Zim sighed. He still couldn't figure out how GIR existed. By all rights he should never have existed now that he'd saved Grup. He turned to the time-object replacement device. "Computer, show me the SIR units. Show me what happens to the bag Grup dropped."

The monitors flickered, zooming in to a view of Vork's body, surrounded by SIR units. One picks up a small drawstring bag.

"The defective smeet dropped this." It droned. "We should report to the Tallests."

"What should we report?" another asked.

"That the smeet was carried off by a mad Irken to be killed. The Tallests may want this bag."

"Affirmative."

Zim took a step back. So GIR's creation was assured by the delivery of that bag… that's why he still existed.

A wet tongue slurped at his hand and he withdrew it, glaring. Krull stared up, a stupid grin on his face.

"You. Don't think just because you led us home that you get to stay here. I do not keep animals."

Krull just sat there, tongue lolling out.

"I don't. You'll see. I'm going to turn you out in a day, and you'll have to forage just like all the other dirty dog monsters on this rock."

Krull yawned, stretching out and laying his head on his forepaws. Upstairs, loud crashes and squeals were heard. Zim sighed. "I will, just you wait."


End file.
